The Precious of Gaia
by Tonzura123
Summary: Merlin cannot move when made of stone, but the faint light and witching eyes make it seem like he almost might... AU. Heroic!Arthur. No slash.
1. Sedimentary Stone

**The Precious of Gaia**

**Part One: Sedimentary Stone**

**by Tonzura123**

**Disclaimer: I am, in fact, English.**

* * *

><p><em>'What happiness to reign a lonely king,<em>

_Vext- O ye stars that shudder over me,_

_O earth that soundest hollow under me, _

_Vext with waste dreams?'_

-_The Coming of Arthur, _Tennyson.

* * *

><p>A very weak bond is holding Camelot together: fear.<p>

The enemy is great, ruthless, and well fortressed by magic. They stand at the foot of the Kingdom, easily bearing down on the grand city. Arthur knows they cannot fight forever.

Sooner or later, Camelot will crumble or Camelot will changed.

That is the way of things.

**OoOoOoOoO**

The throne room is dark and hollow when Arthur walks in. His bare feet don't make a sound on the panel floor, his night shirt is not enough to stop the chill that seems to stir the air with a thousand dreadful eyes.

But he only sees the pair in front of him- golden, frozen, boring down at him from the dais. He slowly makes his way. There is no one to watch or to judge. He is not a king without his subjects. He is not a noble to his friends.

_Old Friend..._

Alabaster face, olivine hair, feldspar mouth held tight in a frown.

And those eyes that reflect the moonlight like bold fire.

A pale hand greets the space between them, waiting, patient, urgent. Arthur does not quite reach it, standing just beyond it, and watches Merlin's stony face.

The sound of Nothing is the most obtrusive din Arthur has ever heard. He yearns for the man in front of him to fill it with his typical nonsense words, but he will not. Arthur does.

"Everyone believes you are dead," he tells the statue.

Merlin cannot move when made of stone, but the faint light and witching eyes make it seem like he almost might. The hand is outstretched, as it has been for days, reaching for nothing in an empty hall that no one will fill, no one can bear for the sight of those horrible priceless eyes. The nobles had all wanted it removed, maybe to the vaults, maybe to the caves far beneath the castle, but Arthur had refused.

Arthur is the first of his people to venture back in the aftermath. The first person Merlin has seen (if he can see) in nearly a week.

"I've been thinking about what Gaius said. About your name and what it means. You see, Merlin," Arthur says suddenly, half turning away with the swipe of this next thought, "Emrys means _immortal_ in the Druid tongue. And if it is your true name, and this is your true nature, then beneath this enchantment, I can almost believe that you're still..."

Alive; strangely, horridly alive in the moonlight of the witching hour without air or blood, eyes trained on nothing, yet now, maybe something. Maybe someone.

"If you can break free-" Arthur takes a step, forgetting himself, and swallows. He is so weary. He casts his eyes around to evade the golden eyes that swamp him with a weight not unlike responsibility. "If you can help us win this battle before all of Camelot is destroyed- _Please_, Merlin."

The statue stares out: forever reaching.

**OoOoOoOoO**

No magical miracle activates in the night. When Arthur is woken by Guinevere the next morning, her lovely face is already marked by ash and dirt.

"Morgana is coming," she says quietly, bringing him a new shirt. Or maybe it was the same shirt from yesterday. Arthur has stopped caring about how he looks.

"No surprise," he says in a low voice, and tugs his night shirt off. He catches Guinevere staring at him a moment before she turns her eyes away. With a calm sort of warmth in his stomach, he puts on his new shirt, saying, "You know, if we win this war, I'd like to marry you, Gwen."

"Would you, Sire?" she asks, in her playfully demure voice. A precious smile turns up her mouth.

"And if it seems we are losing," he adds, standing and catching her hands in his, planting a soft kiss on her lips, "I'd like to marry you anyway."

A traitorous thought whispers that he could still have that, if he were to surrender. He breaks away from Gwen with a smile and tries to bury it.

"How are you, Guinevere?"

She smiles, encouraging, "Fine. Gaius has put me to work in the clinic. I'm learning a lot."

"Good."

"And you, Arthur?"

"I'm great," Arthur says, "Fantastic."

She looks at him.

He looks away, "I had a dream."

"A dream?"

Arthur nods. Rubs under his hair at a phantom presence.

Gwen is all patience, watching him think with soft brown eyes, "Was it of Merlin?"

Arthur would like to say yes. To say no. In truth, he has no idea who that person is.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Arthur has to find another servant to help him with his armor, and he can think of no one better suited for the job than George, his ex-manservant. And George is the best sort of servant, for the perfect sort of King.

So, to Arthur, the straps are too tight, the armor too clean, the sword unusually polished, and he goes into the battle thinking that he's never felt so unprepared. The little differences throw off his aim- his sword goes around heads and beneath hearts, and he really doesn't even consider the fact that this is the way he used to fight. Before Merlin, before magic, before friendship undeserved and wholly cherished, _this _was Arthur. It feels tight and constricting- he no longer fits this way. It no longer serves him.

He can feel Morgana's eyes on him, and he snarls at the thought, another blow leaving one of her men to an agonizingly slow bleed. The battleground is red and brown and reeks of iron. Men cry, some still fight, but Arthur's knights are flagging, and they begin to drag him back as Camelot drums beat wildly in retreat.

This is the first week. This is its own era.

**OoOoOoOoO**

On the second week, Morgana sends fire- of a sort.

The magic rain burns away almost anything in its path. Gaius and Guinevere are running back and forth from the infirmary to tend to famers and beggars that had been exposed to the rains the most- their faces half melted off and the skin of their arms blistering angrily. Gaius points out the power of magic on the enemy's side. The sorcerers, witches, possibly even a necromancer or two. Arthur nods, staring at his people, wondering how he could have befriended a man with the same sort of power under his skin.

"Is there a way to stop it?" he asks of Gaius. He has to repeat it because the old man barely hears him when he speaks. He's taken to not hearing or seeing almost anyone since Merlin was killed.

"No," says Gaius at last. "Not anymore."

**OoOoOoOoO**

Arthur spends the next day outside with his knights, training hard. The rain has stopped at Morgana's mercy, which is a start, but Elyan cannot concentrate, and for no reason at all, Arthur finds himself suddenly struggling to keep his nerves together.

"Elyan!" he barks, twirling his sword behind his neck, "Again!"

So Elyan comes at him, but falters halfway through his attack, and Arthur beats him easily to the ground, feeling like he should have taken the moment to hit him a little harder.

"What is _wrong_ with you all today?" he growls, rounding on his men, "This kind of attitude will get us nowhere against Morgana!"

Leon, eyes lowered, begins, "Sire, the men are tired from battle, I'm sure if we are given even a small time to rest-"

"Is that what you all want?" Arthur interrupts, "To rest?"

His men exchange glances.

"At least in shifts," Gwaine agrees.

"In shifts," Arthur says, "Elyan?" The knight nods and bows, retreating to the edge of the practice yard to sleep in the dirt. The rest train with Arthur in shifts until he collapses from exhaustion.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Arthur does not remember the entire dream when he wakes, but a nonsense word floats, rampant, through his head and brings him a sort of peace.

_Aithusa..._

**OoOoOoOoO**

Arthur wakes to his name and Gwen's face leaning over his. He smiles.

"Good morning," he mumbles. "Is it time to get up?"

"By all means, Sire," comes the bemused voice of Gaius, and Arthur sits up _very _quickly, taking in bottles and books, not blankets and breakfast.

"What am I doing here?"

"Fainted, Sire. Overheating and some dehydration, no doubt."

Arthur looks quite alarmed, but Gwen settles at his side and runs her fingers across his forehead.

"We were all very worried. It's not like you to work yourself into the dust like this."

He thinks of working _Elyan _into the dust and feels a little sick. "My men..."

"-Are all very glad that you were all right, Arthur," Gaius insists. "Percival and Leon carried you in. I haven't heard Sir Leon raise his voice like that since he was a boy..." For a moment, the death of his ward seems to have faded from Gaius' mind, but then his dull eyes catch on the lonely door behind them, and his face closes. "You best drink some more water while we still have water worth drinking."

Gwen helps him lift the cup to his lips because his hands are stiff and tremble a little. The water is cool, tinny, and sparks_ 'Aithusa, aithusa, aithusa' _through his head.

"What news of Morgana?"

"She's held off," Gwen assures him, taking back the cup once he was finished and pushing him down to rest, "No one knows why."

"She's up to something," Arthur says. "I know her."

Her full lips purse, "For Camelot's sake, I pray you're wrong."

For Camelot's sake, Arthur prays he was wrong, too.

**OoOoOoOoO**

For some reason, Arthur was under the impression that Gaius would fuss over him constantly, that he'd spend a few hours at a time with Gwen and talk. Maybe that the knights would drop in to see him.

In reality, Arthur is completely alone for several hours at a time. He isn't quite well enough to go back to training, but he feels too well to just sit or sleep for that time. His mind is too full of what Morgana is up to. Too full of what his people are doing without his leadership down in the war room or the lower towns.

And he's facing Merlin's old room the entire time.

The old, wobbly door is cracked a bit. Arthur can just imagine his servant running out, swinging the door behind him as he charged to the throne room to save Arthur's life. Again. How had Merlin even known to come? Was that a magic thing? A sense thing? A pure-luck-he-was-late thing?

The door hangs open just that little, irritating bit. He can see the room in his mind's eye. He can tell what would be where if he were to stand and open that door.

Just a little.

He tells himself to count to ten and wait for Gaius to come back from checking on civilians. For Gwen who is spending the day overseeing the knights training. The knights. Who are spending the day making their rote sword drills seem as appealing as possible for their female companion.

Arthur grits his teeth. Cranes his neck to look at the door-that-is-not-locked. He can't remember ever being so curious.

It's little surprise that he gives in, hobbling up from the bed on jelly legs and carefully laying one hand on the worn wood- Pushing-

It swings easily inwards.

The room is a mess. Blankets pile at the foot of the bed. Clothes litter the floor. A thick tome is open on the small table. The dusty window lights up dust motes that weave through the haunted air.

Arthur closes the door.

**OoOoOoOoO**

He knows that Gaius suspects, but neither say a word as they prepare for bed.

Arthur wonders if the old man would talk to him if Merlin had died for someone else.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Something wakes him in the night.

He sits up on the cot in Gaius' chambers and strains his ears for movement. There is none, but in his head he can hear whispers and eyes, and he throws off the blanket to pad out into the halls.

His feet carry him to the throne room.

No guards are posted there. He sets an ear against the wide door to listen. Faint movement comes from within. Hardly daring to hope, he cracks open the door, praying to see a statue crumble to life or the golden eyes to flash and wash away whatever evil magic locked Merlin up in the first place.

He sees long black hair and a ragged black train, and his heart freezes with shock as Morgana steps up to Merlin's statue, a soft hand stroking down the alabaster cheek.

"You can come in, Arthur."

She all but whispers it, like she's trying not to wake Merlin up. Like she could. Arthur takes a breath and steps forward, arms stiff and legs braced to run.

"What are you doing here?" His voice comes out hushed. Every breath feels like an intrusion. Neither of them should be in the throne room. They aren't wanted here.

"Why don't you call the guards?" Morgana retorts, as she turns to him, "And I thought _Uther _was terrible at security."

"Step away from Merlin," Arthur says. It seems like the most important thing she can do right now. "Don't bother him."

"I'm surprised at you. A lifetime learning the evils of magic-users, and you turn against your father's teachings so easily for one servant?"

Arthur says nothing, a nonsense word filling his head.

She sneers. "You're lucky I don't have the time for this-"

"What do you mean?"

"- Instead, I'm going to offer you some advice. For old time's sake, Arthur."

She steps down the dais towards him, eyes wide and entreating, far cooler than that igneous rage. It makes her look younger. He has to remember that he no longer considers her his older sister. "_Give up, Arthur_. For once in your life. It's over, but Camelot will be in good hands. You don't have to die. You can live here, under my law, and grow old with Gwen- think about it: Your people, still safe and free. Your wife and children. All of it without having to lift a finger or lay down your life. I can give that to you, Arthur."

"You don't really think I'm going to fall for that, do you?" asks Arthur. "Like you won't kill us all when you see fit!"

She withdraws with the speeds known to her kind. Her eyes are still soft and so sad. "Don't say I didn't offer. I'll give you until noon tomorrow to decide."

She vanishes. Arthur spins, trying to see where she went and failing.

"The answer is still NO!" he yells at the room. It echoes in a thousand ways. He runs before he can catch a glimpse of gold.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Morgana slaughters his men.

She enters the field alone, cries out that he has one chance to surrender. He holds firm, so sure, so terrified, and Morgana lifts her arms to the clear blue sky.

A crow's scream lashes through the air. Arthur yells, claps a hand over one ear, the other hand desperately gripping his sword. His knights are on their knees at the sound which echoes and grows into the sky until the blue of the air is bloody. His armor is reverberating against his heart. He can feel the sound reflecting off of his blade.

Morgana reaches, head back in the throes of her magic, and pulls black lightning like fiery arrows from the cloudless sky. They strike the first three rows of his men and stop. Morgana stops. She lowers her hands and levels her head, and Arthur can hear her voice echoing in a thousand ways throughout his head.

_Surrender, Arthur, or I will kill everything and everyone. Give up while you can._

_Surrender._

_Surrender, Arthur!_

_Give up._

_Did you think you could win, little one?_

_Give up._

_Surrender, unrightful King!_

_Die or leave. Keel or flee._

_Baby Arthur needs his father?_

_Can't even kill one little witch?_

_Give it up, Arthur Pendragon, last in a long line of failure!_

And only one other word can be heard through his agony.

**AITHUSA.**

And suddenly he hears nothing, sees nothing, is nothing.

**OoOoOoOoO**

_He dreams that he is looking up at a dais, not unlike the one in Camelot. But this one is higher, lighter, and the windows blaze so that every object or person in the room is muted with white._

_Ahead of him, at the top step, is a tall figure who is reaching out and down to him, offering a hand so that he can ascend to sit at the throne._

_"Will you help me?" he asks the figure, feeling awed with the light in the room, and the grace of the steps, and the weight on his head that he cannot see._

_"Arthur," says a warm, solid voice, "All you have to do is take my hand."_

_He meets a firm grip, hears a laugh, and _wakes to his dark room, feeling eyes in the darkness that he cannot avoid.


	2. Metamorphic Man

**The Precious of Gaia**

**Part Two: Metamorphic Man**

**by Tonzura123**

**Magic is Arthur's only hope. All he lacks is a warlock.**

**Disclaimer: Surprisingly, my initials are **_**not**_** BBC.**

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><p>The knights had borne Arthur from the battlefield with tears and despair and the intent to put him to rest.<p>

They had not expected to find him prowling his barricaded quarters a day later: dressed for a pire, pale, and pacing like an enraged spirit with the laugh of a ghost still haunting his ears.

* * *

><p>Gaius is summoned and gives Arthur a full examination. His heart is healthy and beating. His breathing unhindered. The place where Morgana ran him through is completely healed, save for a small puckered spot that looks a little like a white, dimensional sun stretching light across his left ribs. He has to twist in front of his mirror to see how far it goes, blending white around his ribs and under his arm, circling around to his back, where the exit wound used to be.<p>

The old Physician's explanation: Magic.

Arthur knows immediately what this means, and finds Gaius' company heavy with a bitter grief.

"I'm sure Merlin knew what he was doing," Gaius says tiredly. His unkempt hair lingers in his face, and his sagging face folds almost grotesquely in his misery. "There was hardly a time that he did not, when it came to you."

"He knew me."

"Yes, Sire."

Arthur traces the light with his thumb, pressing on the raised flesh, feeling no pain.

"But I barely knew him."

* * *

><p>The night breathes.<p>

_Well..._

_I know you. _

And the air speaks.

* * *

><p>The city rallies around him when he walks in the streets, as Gwen suggested he should.<p>

There had been a great and terrible panic at the word of his demise. Some citizens had ended their own lives for the fear that Morgana would take over the Citadel that very day. Others had fled Camelot's walls, shot down in the fields by Morgana's men in the night. Those that chose to stay, lived to mourn.

Those that mourned, now seccumb to jubiliation.

Now the houses and shops are covered in bright cloth, sheets, flowers, jewels. The last of the beer and wine are rolled out of storage and into the dirt of the pathways for neighbors to share. People are laughing and crying with each other, children screaming and running around. Animals (covered in wildflowers and ribbons) are barking, cawing, bringing touches of chaos to the joy. Hope, hope! It can feed the starving and protect the weakest victim. There is nothing more dear than hope. In Camelot is manifests itself like May Day and Christmas and Samhain and Arthur's birthday all rolled into one. The people of Camelot touch Arthur's hair, his hands as he walks by them, some hug him like a lost son, or even kiss him.

All cry, "Long Live the King!"

And Arthur plans to.

* * *

><p>The sky trembles.<p>

_You're a great warrior and one day you'll be a great King. _

And the earth rumbles.

* * *

><p>Morgana staggers away from him when he enters the field this time.<p>

His armor gleams from hours under George's hands, his sword balanced, his feet steady. He wears no helmet, but is feeling just reckless enough to go without.

Raising his sword, he levels the blade at his sister's head and releases a battle cry that is so soaked in the tears of vengeance and the blood of innocence that the Witch can do nothing but gape at him. Her jaw reminds him vaguely of a corpse, and her ragged train of mold. His men let fly their arrows. The stunned ranks of Morgana's army fly into a panic, rapidly devolving into chaotic tugs at order and authority.

Arthur meets Morgana's eyes, which have grown cold.

"Can you feel the field shifting?" Arthur asks quietly.

Hundreds of metres away, her nearly invisble mouth moves.

_Yes._

* * *

><p>His appetite changes. And then the rest of him does, too.<p>

He can no longer stomach the heavy meats and cheeses, preferring vegatables, fruits, cheap and rough breads that are days old and hard on his teeth. He chews slowly while he pours over texts, feeling his mind slowly opening up, stretching. Plans, intricate, somewhat slapshod slip into his mind while he works or trains. Ways of taking out Morgana. Ways of bringing Merlin back. Somehow. He hasn't thought of these things before, amazed at the ease with which they come to him now.

He sees things in his dreams. Dreams of walking into Merlin's room with the haunted air and still bedcovers and herbal drawings. Dreams of an ancient tome humming, calling, singing for him throught he castle walls. Dreams of new memories.

"Trouble sleeping sire?" asks Gaius, when Arthur walks in late one night.

Arthur says yes. Gaius has to go fetch a special herb from his stores.

There is just enough time for Arthur to do what he came there to do.

He doesn't sleep at all that night, candles burnt to stubs, fire in the grate down to sparks, and still Arthur reads Merlin's book of magic until the sun begins to rise.

* * *

><p>The streams flow.<p>

_But you must learn to listen as well as you fight. _

And the waters grow.

* * *

><p>Arthur begins to spend all of his extra time lying. It's easy, because he doesn't have much of that to begin with.<p>

He lies about the dreams he's having. He lies about how he thinks they can defeat Morgana. He lies about what happened to Gaius' books of magic, because magic is technically still illegal and no one can know that the King is now studying those ancient words in his bedroom.

He's rubbish at magic, as it turns out. Nothing responds to his spells. He can't wrap his mouth around some of the words. He can't feel that inner fire that the book so often talks about. He wonders how an idiot like Merlin could have been so good at this.

"Pure luck," he grumbles, trying to pronounce _forbearne _and failing miserably. "Pure dumb luck."

As is his, when he spots a word in a messy script across one page:

_Aithusa_

* * *

><p>The stray wolf howls.<p>

_You're a good man, Arthur Pendragon._

And the lion bows.

* * *

><p>"I don't know what it means," Arthur tells Merlin not an hour later. The witching eyes of gold don't look half so frightening in broad daylight, but somewhat more powerful. Animated, is the word. "I think it might be a name, or a spell, or a clue to something you hid before you... Before Morgana did this. I'm not going to rest, Merlin. You have my word."<p>

For whatever it was worth.

* * *

><p>The child is born.<p>

_And for this reason, your life will always be worth more than mine. More than any of ours._

And the mother mourned.

* * *

><p>Percival falls in battle the very next morning, if it can even be called a battle anymore. Massacre is closer to the sensation of animal panic and the gross murder of the men by magic that tears them in half in midair or dissolves them in a breeze. Morgana is mad with fear. She leaves her army behind so that she can finish Arthur's alone.<p>

They were retreating again, Percival was pushing Leon- wounded with an arrow high in his shoulder- when another fell from the open sky and struck Percival. It tore into him, just above his chain mail and below his hair line.

Gaius says that it severed his spinal cord. Percival didn't even realize his transition from man to corpse. Like blowing out a candle or crushing a grape under your heel.

They burn his body that afternoon, before the crows or ravens can peck his eyes and chew his lolling tongue. It takes three knights to lift his sturdy frame onto the pyre.

All three share Percival's eyes: glazed, aimless, grey.

He is the first of Arthur's Knights to go Beyond.

* * *

><p>The past is depressed.<p>

_You change things for the better._

And the future trespassed.

* * *

><p>Elyan barely leaves his sister's side.<p>

Arthur isn't sure that she realizes it, if she notices the shadow that trails her as younger brothers do. His dark eyes watch as she bathes the wounded, feeds old mothers, sharpens the blades of the warriors. He sits beside her, or behind her, or somewhere he can be sure to see her, always watching. Always guarding.

Arthur remembers that Elyan and Percival were close- almost like family.

"We weren't close growing up," Gwen surprises him by saying, tirelessly folding bandages. "He followed me around a lot, but we didn't talk often. He didn't like being hugged or kissed. He just watched."

"You've noticed, then?" Arthur asks. "He's been quieter than usual. Tired."

Gwen nods. "It was the same after our mother died. Give him time. He's still a knight."

* * *

><p>The mirror moves.<p>

_But you're still Arthur._

But the person loves.

* * *

><p>"Sire?"<p>

"Thank you, leave it there," says Arthur distractedly to who he thinks is George. He's found more lines in Merlin's handwriting throughout the book. Nonsense words. Some more bizarre than others. Definitely not in the tongue of the Druids.

"Leave what, Sire?"

Arthur finally turns around to find Leon at his door. He shuts the book and stands in front of it with a smile, "Leon! Forgive me, I thought you were my lunch."

Sir Leon smiles thinly. "No, my Lord."

"Ah well." Arthur stands awkwardly, hiding impatience. When a moment of stagnant silence has passed, he presses, "What can I do for you, Leon?"

Leon hesitates. "The men are worried, my King."

"Worried?"

"About you, Arthur."

"Tell the men they need not worry. I'm healthy, ready for battle. Don't lose faith in me now, Leon."

"I'm not. The men- We've all noticed it. You barely train. You're remain in your room for hours, or, if not here, then in the throne room with..."

Leon trails off and Arthur realizes too late that his face has shifted to a mask of cold anger. He doesn't even know why. He is very angry. Suddenly, he can hardly stand how angry he is. Bewildered, he waves a dismissive hand to the Captain of his guard. Leon, wise as ever, chooses to retreat. The door clicks delicately shut behind him.

"_Abdakasam!"_ Arthur swears.

The candles in the room leap into sudden flame as green as emeralds.

* * *

><p>The stars fall.<p>

_And I'm happy to be your servant 'til the day I die._

And the planets stall.

* * *

><p>All of Merlin's spells work for him. None of the Old Religion spells will budge.<p>

Soon, Arthur is levitating his bed with a simple _Flibertyjim!_ and creating his own bread out of rocks with a whispered _Stonodo. _There is no change to his eyes while he works- he practices with a mirror just to make sure- and no inner fire grows up into his chest like the books describe. For Arthur, it's like the eyes that watch him are suddenly seeing _with _him, _as _him, and he's having someone else do the work for him. Like he's the hilt to the terrible blade of this new weapon.

And after a few days, Arthur decides it's time to run this new weapon through a real trial.

* * *

><p>The words are heard.<p>

_And beyond that, you'll always have a servant in the next life._

As their speaker is Lord.

* * *

><p>Arthur trips Morgana.<p>

Perhaps not as much of an attack as he would like, but the magic reaches easily over the field. Arthur is giddy with how easily. It latches hold of one of her high-heeled boots and pulls it through the bloody mud away from her.

She nearly falls on her face.

It makes her furious, but Arthur thinks it's almost worth it to see her confident eyes suddenly bulge, stunned. To see her perfect hair tangle over her mouth, her dress split at the hem, her beautiful face replaced by an ugly scowl. It's terrifying. It makes Arthur's army laugh.

The battle is a draw that day. Morgana is flustered, reckless in her rage at the mockery leveled at her.

Arthur smiles through the entire thing.

* * *

><p>"Why doesn't Percival wake up?" Elyan asks Leon. Arthur is putting on his greeves when the knight speaks, and remains bent over, frozen, heart hammering.<p>

"Elyan," Leon says. He says nothing else. Arthur does not have to look to know Elyan's face is innocent of grief and hopeful- almost mad with hope.

"King Arthur woke," Elyan says. His latest injury was a blow to the head, and Arthur prays that this is all that is causing this moment of confusion. "Percival has slept for two days, not one. Why is it taking longer?"

_Why did I wake at all? _Arthur begs. _Why did you wake me up?_

And the Magic has anwers for no one, not even its King.

Gwen arrives later to take her brother home to rest.

* * *

><p>The sorceror is stone.<p>

_Like two sides of the same coin. Everything I have and everything I am is yours._

The man: flesh and bone.

* * *

><p>Arthur thinks that he can hear a voice speaking to him- only it's less of a voice and more of a presence.<p>

At first, he considers stress and maybe more than a little blood-related madness. He steps into his room one day and freezes, certain that he's looking at someone standing beside the window. But of course there is no one there. As he moves in and draws his sword, he feels _it _move, but he cannot tell where, and the presence slips away into a void of a million invisible eyes.

At night he lights every candle and calls for more. Calling for Gwen or Gaius or Leon to stay might force him to "rest" as Elyan must now rest. Instead, Arthur searches the Book for spells on warding away evil. When he falls into dreams, the presence finds him there, strangely solid, out of sight.

Arthur chooses to not speak with it. There have been too many stories of men who spoke to spirits and were possessed or haunted by them. He thinks of the Druid boy that possessed Elyan. He wonders if he harmed anyone else, made any other poor decision, that would bring this spirit to him. It follows him for times, watches him practice, watches him read, watches him eat.

What it's waiting for, Arthur can only guess.

* * *

><p>I am Arthur.<p>

_Aithusa._

_Aithusa, thy Lord summons thee._

And Arthur is me.

* * *

><p>It is when he attempts a spell, that the presence swoops down on him, mixing with him, and Arthur yells, but the fire is suddenly there, leaping up to his eyes and blasting out of his hand and turning his wardrobe to gold.<p>

"Merlin!" Arthur gasps out, hand still extended. It scalds his mind, lashing off of his tongue, flaring in his eyes as the name of his closest friend erupts out of him like another spell. And for one moment, Arthur is certain that he is _looking at Merlin's smile-_

But the presence dissipates before his outstretched and frozen hand, and suddenly Arthur is moving.

He races downstairs, pushing around servants and courtiers alike, running on slapping, bare feet into the throne room, which he throws open the doors with both hands.

Merlin's stony hand reaches for him in the moonlight, mirroring Arthur's posture from only moments ago.

And in his ear, a soft breath carries to him from a void of a million eyes.

_Aithusa._

_"Aithusa_," Arthur says.

It rides a gasp like fire out of his throat, burning, scaly, somehow soothing. A voice that is not his voice, and not Merlin's voice, but something ancient and of old blood that roars out of him like a beast of Hel:

"_Aithusa, thy Lord summons thee."_

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><p><em>Light of the Sun, thy Lord summons thee;<em>

_For only Dragon's Fire can set stone free.  
><em>

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><p><strong>AN:**

**Next chapter- "Igneous Immortal" Dragons show up, witches get their cummupits, and wrongs are made righter.**

**Questions, comments, concerns? Please contact me via PM or review.**

**Allonsy!**

**As Always,**

**-Tonzura123**


	3. Igneous Immortal

**The Precious of Gaia**

**Part Three: Igneous Immortal**

**by Tonzura123**

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><p><strong>Magic is Arthur's only hope. All he lacks is a warlock.<strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I taught Merlin his ABC's before England was a country. Really.<strong>

**Warnings: Gore, character deaths, AU galore.**

Aithusa is not a spell at all: it's a pale and serpentine dragon that stretches wings as long as ships on either side of his lion like limbs. It's amber eyes and ivory teeth snapping in the light of the fire from his breath. And Aithusa does not crash through a window or crawl from the fiery bowels of the earth's furnace, but flashes into being like a lightning strike that can freeze in time. The room that was a tomb with a mourner erupts into a midnight court with a demon and a man joining for the sake of sedimentary stone.

"_Aithusa_," says Arthur again, in that same rasping voice that is not his and is not Merlin's, but something far more ancient and blood-tied. The dragon rears back and his sleek head dips down, his magic eyes level with the fire cast in Arthur's, answering in a voice of the same blood, of the same era;

"_Pendragon."_

The room echoes. Arthur feels a call unlike any other enter his veins. Something deeper than a battle cry or anthem or love song. This voice that speaks Arthur's name _is _Arthur. Yet, it is _Aithusa_. Yet... it's also...

Arthur looks to Merlin's statue, chills running up his back as Merlin's golden eyes are forced to return his gaze. He can see Merlin, but he can also see himself, wide-eyed and reaching. It's as if Arthur is in two places at once; as if Arthur is two _people _at once.

_"Arthur," _says a warm voice from within Arthur that is not Arthur, but Merlin. Arthur's heart shudders in the hold of that phantom presence that fills him still, flashes filling his head of things he's never seen, people he's never met, and things he has never done. _"All you have to do is take my hand."_

And after weeks of reaching, Merlin's stone-cold hand is surrounded by a hand of flesh, blood, and bone: by Arthur.

And Aithusa opens his razor mouth and bellows out with fire that fills the room like sunlight: hot, metallic, and igneous.

It doesn't startle Arthur to be swept up in flame. Merlin had expected it, and so Arthur did as well. They are seeping into one another, becoming less and less their own person. Arthur knows what Merlin knows. Merlin knows what Arthur knows. And deeper still, buried in lava that was once the roof and the walls of the great hall, sinking into Gaia as Aithusa liquidizes the ground beneath them with his dragon fire, Arthur feels a great love and pride for himself that he knows as once has come from Merlin, and that he knows Merlin must feel in return.

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><p>and arthur is merlin and merlin is arthur and they two are some being like<p>

Gold and Fire

igneous immortals

mixing together and becoming one Person

one Coin, purified as children

precious of gaia

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><p><strong>Merlin can see the future, and Arthur sees it through Merlin's eyes<strong>**—The clash ****of armies like opposing ocean waves, crashing, crumbling, thundering into one another in a force unlike any Albion has ever seen. There are wheeling creatures that leave thick track in the mud, trenches filled to the brim with crying men, strange and short spears that fire pops of lightning into the soft flesh of their enemies. Children, no better than students or stable hands. None of them are kings. None of them are trained. Not like Arthur is trained. **

**But the miserable, dying children have lightning boats soaring overhead, and four-wheeled creatures that breathe smoke and spit fire, and each and every one of these children is screaming for an end.**

_**Is this what we're creating?**_** Arthur wonders, for these are the grandchildren of Albion.**

_**No**_**, answers Merlin, **_**This is what we're protecting. Without us, Arthur, even a future such as this will be without hope.**_

_**What are we creating?**_

_**A chance.**_

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><p><em>Arthur sees the past, and Merlin sees it through Arthur's eyes—The wash of wind on the stone walls of Camelot, the haunting and lonely cry of one person, just one person. Their voice is dear and sharply shoots through Merlin's heart, pulling on him from where he'd been standing in the stables. He spins towards the palace; Arthur's cry still ringing through him.<em>

_Merlin magicks into being within the throne room, eyes on fire, body cold as Morgana's reaching hand finds him._

_He freezes, tries to move, finds he cannot._

_Arthur is not in the room. But Arthur's voice comes out of Morgana's mouth as she smirks at Merlin, and suddenly he is burning, crumbling, sedimentary._

Where were you_? Merlin asks Arthur, because he had been worried that Arthur was already taken, already dead. Morgana might have won._

Safe,_ Arthur answers. _I was safe, thanks to you. A wave of magic filled the city and I was caught up in it.

I had to protect you.

You did.

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><p>Arthur's eyes open to Leon and Gwen and Gaius, each extremely wary, concern and fear and uncertainty channeling through them.<p>

Merlin and Arthur are gripping each other around the forearm—Merlin's hand is flesh where he connects with Arthur's warm arm, and Arthur's is granite where it fuses into Merlin's sandstone elbow. Gold eyes reflect Arthur's golden eyes. The feldspar lips are no longer frowning, but smiling. Arthur can see clean halite behind them.

"Arthur," Gwen says. Her soft hands are trying to turn his chin towards her. Merlin's hand tightens on his arm.

"It's Merlin," Arthur tells her.

"I know," she says, her hands skip over the union of stone and flesh, barely skimming the surface. "I know, Arthur. Please- Does it hurt, Arthur?"

Gaius is staring at the blood-filled fingers holding fast to Arthur, expression unreadable.

Arthur blinks, something foreign coursing through him. "No. It doesn't hurt. Not at all. It's—" And he can think of nothing else to describe it other than, "its Merlin, Guinevere."

A dragon's cry comes from somewhere high above the castle, and a dragon's shadow flits by the stained glass. On its tail, several hundred figures, like hags on brooms, shoot after it.

Merlin pulls on Arthur's arm.

"What is it?" Arthur asks, his vision is growing hot and golden and everything all around him, from beetle, to black dog, to beauty is unraveled in his minds' eye.

_It's going to be all right, Arthur…_

And then Arthur's vision explodes in hot light, and Gwen shrieks and Leon yells out Arthur's name, but Arthur can feel a shift in his arm, where Merlin is holding onto him, and when the light fades, Arthur is holding a long and crystalline sword. It catches the light and magnifies it with a variety of colors. Each side of the diamond-like blade is etched with ancient runes.

Merlin is gone.

And Arthur's hand feels… off.

"Oh, Arthur," Gwen breathes. She takes a step forwards and stops, hands to her mouth.

The wide palm and thick fingers of Arthur's hand are gone, replaced with a hand that's as pale as marble, and with fingers that taper. He grips the granite of the hilt and takes an experimental swing, listening to the song and laughter of the blade as it frays the air on its edge. His eyes reflect on the blade, and they are blue.

He flips the sword over, and finds a pair of blazing golden eyes and a feldspar smile.

"Merlin," Arthur says. An annoyed tone carries it.

_Arthur_, says Merlin's reflection in the sword. _How do you like Excalibur?_

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><p>Arthur would rather have his friend than a sword, and he'd rather have his own hand than Merlin's, but when fighting a war against an evil witch like Morgana, Arthur will take what he can get.<p>

_Just believe_, Merlin's reflection says. And just because the sword is being studied by Gaius downstairs doesn't mean Arthur and Merlin's connection is broken. Just like when Merlin was a statue and Arthur felt those eyes watching him, surrounding him, now it feels like Arthur _is_ the eyes. He's part of Merlin and Merlin is part of him and neither space nor time can damage that.

Arthur feels unbelievably calm about it.

_Thank you for freeing me, _Merlin says. _You have no idea how boring it can be as a statue._

"I visited you," Arthur replies. "And anyway, think of it as a vacation."

_I suppose as your weapon, I won't get much of those anymore,_ Merlin muses. _Just don't let me rust._

But Merlin isn't made out of metal, just diamond and granite and some other material that Gaius insisted he needed to identify before letting Arthur use it.

_You need to beware_, Merlin says suddenly. _Tonight, it may be those that love you that cause you the most grief._

"Too late," Arthur snaps.

They wait in silence and Gwaine runs to tell Arthur that Morgana is on the march.

And she has a dragon.

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><p><em>That,<em> says Merlin_, is not a dragon._

Arthur would like to agree, but the creature standing up ahead and roaring most impressively does look a lot like a dragon. It has these thick black scales the size of shields, a long arching neck, and teeth like spears shooting from every direction out of its mouth. It even breathes fire, sort of.

"What is it then?"

_The Leviathan_, Merlin says. Excalibur chuckles and hums against the fabric of space. Arthur holds it steady. _A sea-monster. It boils the seas. It's scales are impenetrable. No iron can cut it. No hook can draw it out. You won't forget a battle like that._

"Brilliant," says Arthur.

Morgana reaches up to scratch the Leviathan beneath the chin. It snaps at her hand, coy and smug. Arthur thinks they make a perfect pair.

"Arthur Pendragon," Morgana calls, "So-called King of Camelot, I bid you, for the last time to surrender. Lay down your swords, and your lives will be spared. Resist me, and they will be forfeit."

The Leviathan roars. Or, it opens its cave-like mouth and lets an earthquake roll out of it.

"It doesn't look that bad," Arthur comments. "Maybe it won't be as fierce out of water."

_Don't chance it._

"Morgana," Arthur calls, raising his voice above the dying echo of the Leviathan's roar, "Witch and Traitor to Camelot; I hope you're ready for the end."

And he brings up Excalibur, Merlin's hand holding tight to granite, and the blade of diamond splits the air.

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><p>The tear in space brings them above the Leviathan's head. Arthur falls with a shout and swings Excalibur with all of his might. It rings off of the Leviathan's scales, but leaves the beast unharmed.<p>

"It didn't work!" Arthur shouts through the whistling wind, plummeting to earth.

_Move!_ Merlin says, and his hand moves Excalibur to swing again below Arthur's wheeling feet.

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><p>Space opens beneath them and they slip through the hole, reappearing in the center of the battlefield.<p>

"What now?" Arthur asks, craning his head back to keep the Leviathan in his sight.

_Like I said- it's scales are impenetrable. It may not be a dragon, but leviathans have certain strengths._

Arthur pauses long enough to hold up Excalibur so he can see Merlin's face.

"This sword can cut the fabric of space- why not some scales?"

Merlin smiles.

_Why not beyond scales?_

"Beyond?"

Arthur has to jump back as the Leviathan takes a step forwards, nearly flattening him. Camelot's army is thick in its own fight, firing arrows wildly at the bird-like women diving at them on broomsticks from the sky.

"Merlin, any ideas?"

_Of all the times for you to not think with your stomach._

Arthur looks up and sees the wobbly underbelly of the Leviathan, and suddenly has an idea.

"Hold your breath," he tells Merlin.

He cuts space and jumps into bile.

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><p>He's inside of the Leviathan, swimming in its juices. Throwing out a hand, in pain from the burning acid of its stomach, he finds the soft tissue of the stomach lining, and begins to cut in earnest.<p>

A beating tattoo reverberates through the world of slimes and blood and sick that covers Arthur and Merlin, growing steadily louder the farther Arthur hacks and slashes through the Leviathan's body. The heart is what Arthur is driving for. His hand reaches out and grips the throbbing wall of muscle, fingers burying in the soft tissue. He pulls Excalibur back, and cuts through it with one clean sweep.

Arthur and Merlin and the Leviathan heart bleed out onto the field. Arthur is on his back, dripping and dizzy from the rush of fresh air filling his lungs. The heart is the size of a cart, and it steams, fresh red blood still spilling out of the severed aorta. It pumps, miraculously, one final time, and stills.

In the midst of the battle of Camelot, a monster the size of the city takes one faltering step, groans, and collapses on the men screaming below.

"No!" Morgana screams, slashing at Arthur with her arms. Black lashes of cold, wet air cut at him, and one strikes him across the eye as he stumbles backwards, half blinding him.

_That Witch! _Merlin says, outraged. Merlin's hand twists up and slashes Excalibur right back at her, and she trips, nearly falling into a rip that Merlin has created.

"Merlin," she sneers, waiting as Arthur scrambles to stand. "I should have known he'd weasel his way out of that spell. He'd go mad if he couldn't waste away in a Pendragon's shadow."

"Enough, Morgana," Arthur says, leveling Excalibur. "Please don't make me kill you, sister."

Her lip curls. "I'd like to see you—"

-An arrowhead appears in the center of her chest.

Stunned, Morgana and Arthur stare at it for a moment. Then, around Morgana's wild hair, Gwen's lovely face appears. Her cheeks are covered in dirt and blood. Her nostrils flare and her mouth is a slit as she whispers something into Morgana's ear, and then she shoves the Witch's dying body to the wayside.

It is when Morgana falls away that Arthur realizes Gwen is wounded.

And by the time he realizes this, Guinevere follows her old mistress to the surface of Gaia, and her life leaves her.

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><p>Arthur is High King of Albion for many, many years.<p>

At his side is Merlin, his most trusted companion and best ally in battle, for there are hundreds of battles and very few companions.

They live for a century. And then for two.

As Time ravages Gaia, Arthur turns to Merlin one day and says;

"The future has come."

_It was the future, once. But the past is done, and the present is fading. _

Arthur stares out over his lands, over the white cliffs and the gentle green of the hills. All friends are Beyond, save for Merlin. Merlin is the only one who can take Arthur to the Beyond.

Merlin sees the future, and Arthur sees the past.

There is still plenty of both for the Precious of Gaia.

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><p><strong>END<strong>

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><p><strong>AN:**

**It's said that in times of trouble, King Arthur will return to save mankind. **

**Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, or concerns! Thanks for reading "The Precious of Gaia."**

**As Always,**

**-Tonzura123**


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